14. Nate
NATE
Over the next few days, we fall into a pattern.
I work during the day. I have potential new agents to interview, existing agents to give training updates to, and some potential new clients to meet to discuss their protection requirements.
Afterwards, I pick Zach up, and we go to my apartment.
Some evenings we play. At the moment, he seems content to explore sensory play further, going beyond the light, tickling touch of feathers to experiment with wands and rollers.
We always cook together, the conversation light and playful while we do.
Then he falls asleep in my arms. In the morning, we wait until the pre-work joggers have gone, then go for a run together.
I then drive him back to Halo House so I can go into work.
When he’s with me, Zach seems more relaxed and happier every day.
While I’m glad he feels safe with me, my ultimate goal is for him to feel confident enough to leave Halo House and return to his life.
He might claim he’s unsure if he wants that life anymore, but I can’t miss the way his eyes light up whenever we talk about movies.
Not even his movie, just movies in general.
He wants to be a star, and I’ll do everything I can to help him fulfil that dream.
We’ve just finished dinner, and Zach is flicking through the streaming channels to find us a movie to watch.
I sit on the sofa and pat my lap. “Come here, sweet boy.”
Obediently, Zach puts the remote on the coffee table and sits on my lap, his arms around my neck.
“Do you remember when we were talking about therapy the other day?”
He stiffens. “I remember I told you I can’t afford it.”
“Well… One of my clients is married to a therapist. If you’re open to it, he’s willing to work with you. No fee.”
Zach narrows his eyes. “How?”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Where?”
“Either I could take you to his office, or he’s willing to come here.”
Zach picks at something on my shoulder. I’m guessing a piece of lint or something imaginary. “That seems too good to be true, Daddy. There must be money involved.”
“No money. But I have offered my client a discount on her security while her husband is working with you. Don’t worry, I haven’t mentioned your name, and her husband will be bound by client-patient confidentiality.”
“A discount?” he whispers. “Daddy, I…”
I silence him with a kiss. “I’m here to look after you, baby. But there are some things I can’t do. You can talk to me, obviously- never stop doing that. But I’m not a professional. Still, it’s up to you. Seeing a therapist won’t do any good if you’re not open to it.”
“I need to, don’t I?”
“I think it would help.” I tuck his hair behind his ear.
“Okay. I’ll give it a try. Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, sweet boy. Did you find a movie to watch?”
He gestures to the TV, which is displaying The Bodyguard.
I wince. “You probably don’t want to watch a film involving security agents with me.”
“Why?”
I arch an eyebrow.
“Oh! Because you’ll comment on how accurate it is.”
“I can’t help it,” I say in a strangled voice.
“My dad’s the same with any films involving chemistry. He works at a drug manufacturing company. Mum’s turned more than a few films off when he’s got on his soapbox.”
“Your mom sounds like a smart woman.”
Zach runs his hand over my hair. “I think it’ll be cute watching you rant about the accuracy of The Bodyguard.”
“Cute isn’t the word I’d use.”
“Oh?”
“Insufferable.”
He laughs. “You can’t be that bad, Daddy.”
“My folks would beg to differ.”
He laughs. “Well, maybe I want to find out for myself.”
I sigh dramatically. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Popcorn?”
“Sure, why not.”
“Do you prefer sweet or salted?”
“You buy both kinds?”
“I pop it and add whatever I want.”
He stares at me.
“What? Haven’t you ever popped corn before?”
“No. I’ve only ever bought it at the cinema, or in bags in the supermarket.”
I grab his hand and pull him off the sofa. “Then you haven’t lived. Come on. I’ll teach you how to pop corn.”
Not that it’s difficult, just noisy as the kernels collide with the sides and lid of the pan.
“When my youngest sister, Beth, was tiny, she used to try to claim that popcorn was one of her five a day,” Zach says.
I frown. “Five what a day?”
“Fruit and veg. It’s a British thing. You’re supposed to try and eat five portions of fruit and vegetables a day to stay healthy.”
“Huh. How does she figure popcorn counts?”
“Because it’s made out of sweetcorn.”
“No, it’s not.”
Zach stares at me. “It’s not?”
“No. It’s made out of a different type of corn. Popcorn kernels wouldn’t explode in the same way.”
“Why not?”
I shrug. “No clue. But popping corn isn’t sweetcorn.”
“Damn. Beth’s going to be so upset.”
I laugh. “Even if it was, I’m not sure it would count as a vegetable by the time it’s got sugar sprinkled all over it.”
“No, probably not.” He flinches at a particularly loud barrage of popping. “I think I prefer buying it pre-popped.”
I wrap my arm around him. “You’re safe with me.”
“Safe from popcorn?”
I kiss his neck. “Safe from everything.”
He melts into my arms. “Thank you, Daddy.”
We divide the freshly popped corn into two bowls, add plenty of sugar to one, and salt to the other, and take them to the sofa.
Zach snuggles up to me and puts the movie on.
I stuff my mouth full of popcorn, so I can’t comment on the film.
It’s not all bad, but the moment Kevin Costner’s character draws a gun during the award ceremony at the end of the movie, I gasp and bite my knuckles. We’re out of popcorn.
Zach hits pause. He had been lying with his head in my lap, but he sits up and stares at me with wide, amused eyes. “What?”
“He’d get tackled,” I say, exasperated. “Besides, he wouldn’t even have a gun at an award ceremony. He probably wouldn’t even be in the room.”
“He wouldn’t?”
“No guns are allowed. Award ceremonies are weapon-free environments. Security is tight. Everyone who gets in is vetted. Agents don’t sit at the table with their principals or—”
“Principal?”
“Client.”
“Oh. Sorry. I interrupted you.”
I smile. “It’s fine, sweet boy.”
He motions with his hand. “Go on.”
“Agents don’t sit at the table with their principals or skulk around the side of the room. The agents are backstage. Observing, waiting. Award ceremonies are as safe as possible. I told you I’d be terrible.”
“You’ve been pretty well behaved until now, Daddy,” Zach says cheekily.
“I had popcorn.”
He laughs, and then his expression gets more serious. “Why would he get tackled?”
“No one else has seen the shooter. By pulling a gun, he makes himself an instant threat. It’s just… The whole scenario is very unrealistic.”
“It makes a good film, though.”
“Maybe.” I cup Zach’s jaw. “But I don’t want you to think something like that could happen at an award ceremony. It wouldn’t.”
He blushes. “I’m a long way off being invited to any award ceremonies. I doubt Confessions is going to get nominated for anything. Except maybe a Razzie.”
“Maybe not, but your next film might. Or the one after that.”
He dips his chin, down casting his eyes. “Maybe. That’s if there are any more films.”
My heart aches. “I hope there will be, baby. You’ve got too much talent to let it go to waste.”
“You’re just saying that because you want to get in my pants,” he mumbles.
“Look at me, sweet boy.”
He lifts his gaze, but not his chin.
“I’ve seen your movie. You’re a good actor. And that was some incredible accent work you did. It’s only a matter of time before you get a bigger role in something more mainstream. You can be a star, Zach, if that’s what you want.”
His eyes shimmer with tears, which gather in his lashes as he blinks. “I don’t want to be afraid, Daddy.”
“I know, baby.”
“If that means no more acting…” He drags in a shuddering breath.
“It doesn’t,” I promise.
“She’s still out there.” His voice wobbles, and his breathing becomes jagged. “Restraining order or not, she knows where I live. I can’t stay at Halo House until her case goes to court.”
“Who says?”
He shrugs. “It could be months.”
“It might be, but Phoenix isn’t going to throw you out while you still need the room.”
“Unless I work, I won’t be able to afford my rent for much longer. If I spend months not doing auditions, no one’s going to want to hire me, anyway.” He rubs his arm. “The longer I hide, the less likely it is I’ll have anything to go back to.”
“It won’t come to that. Why don’t you let the lease on your apartment go? Then you’ll have one less thing to worry about. I can go with you and help you empty it. Or I can get it done for you, if you prefer. When you’re ready, I can help you find a new apartment.”
“Don’t you mean if?” he mutters.
“When.”
His shoulders shudder, and he sobs. “Thank you for believing in me, Daddy.”
I pull him into my arms, holding and stroking him while he cries. His reaction proves to me that I made the right call to organize a therapist for him. I thought he was doing better. He is doing better, but he’s still fragile, still scared.
“Why don’t we watch the end of the silly movie together, and then go to bed and snuggle?” I suggest, once his tears have lessened.
He nods and curls up on the sofa with his head on my lap again. I stroke his hair and shoulder during the closing minutes of the film, managing to bite my tongue so I don’t interrupt any more of the climax and resolution.
“What would be your dream movie to act in?” I ask as the credits roll.
Zach shrugs.
“You must have thought about it.”
“Something with a lot of heart.”
“A drama?”
“Not necessarily. Any film genre can have heart. A film that makes the audience feel something. That makes them laugh, cry, or gasp. Or, better yet, all three.”
“I’d love to watch you in a movie like that one day.”
“One day,” he whispers wistfully.
I take his hand, which is slightly sticky from the popcorn—so’s mine—and help him sit. “Let’s go to bed.”
He hugs me instead. “Thank you for believing in me, Daddy. Even though I can’t believe in myself right now.”
I hold him in return, breathing in the citrus scent of his deodorant. “You will be able to again,” I promise.
“When?”
“Soon, sweet boy. Soon.”